


wrong side of town

by lilstupidprincess



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gangs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Crutchie/Jack Kelly, Period-Typical Homophobia, Triggers, Tutoring, Violence, race is a tutor lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilstupidprincess/pseuds/lilstupidprincess
Summary: prompt: (tweet) "My dad used to live in a really bad area growing up surrounded by a lot of gangs and he told me that there was this kind, openly gay boy that used to tutor all these gang leaders for free. And one day a homophobe insulted him and five gangs found out and went to go beat him up.”-spot conlon remembers it like it was yesterday, and he would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant protecting his... his... what were they?
Relationships: Crutchie/Jack Kelly, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	wrong side of town

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Spot remembered it like it was yesterday. He remembered going to see the lanky boy with a cigar hanging out of his mouth and a deck of cards in his back pocket every Tuesday afternoon. After the lunch bell would ring, he was out for the day. The rest of his classes being a free period and study hall he was allowed to leave. He was grateful. Those were the hours his gang really liked to have a free for all. He had time to focus and plan for his boys. Most of them were orphans, stockpiling in bed and breakfasts, or having 5 boys living in a 1 bedroom apartment. Spot had his own apartment. Raised and earned the money himself and was proud to live on his own. But he always had a pull out sofa incase one of his boys needed a place to stay.

Race wasn’t a part of his crew. Hell, Race wasn’t even a part of his turf. Their school didn’t have a zone. If you went, you went. If you chose to walk 2 hours to get there, your loss. But some boys had to do it. That’s where Manhattan came in. The closest school to get all their kids to go to, and Jack Kelly was notorious, in a good way, for making sure every one of his kids had a future, and a way out of the grimehole that was the Manhattan lodgings. Jack knew the dangers of Brooklyn and what it held. It wasn’t safe to walk in the neighborhood of Brooklyn all by yourself. Jack knew that, and even had a buddy system.

Although Race wasn’t a part of his crew, or his turf. He liked the boy. And Spot wasn’t known for liking fellas. Sure, he had Hot Shot, and he had Sniper, his second in command, and he got along with Jack fairly well when Jack wasn’t trying to start something with the big guys. But Race was different. Well, he was gay. That was one thing. Growing up going to a Brooklyn school in the 40s openly gay was a bravery in itself. Spot admired him for that. Sure, everybody knew Jack had his thing going on with Crutchie, but they were never honest about it. In Brooklyn, lying was the only thing to keep you out of trouble. And Spot knew that better than anyone.

“You’s gonna spend all day countin’ cards or am I’s gonna have to find a new tutor, Higgins?” Spot spit as he lazily dropped his bag next to the table he and Race met at in Central Park just a mile from their school. Race cocked an eye up from his lap where he was, in fact, counting cards for a game he was probably gonna have with some of the boys back in Manhattan. He smiled cheekily at the short Brooklyn leader.

“My’s favorite customa’!” Race said jubilantly.  
“Yeah, like you’s out here paying pennies for your little lessons.” Spot replied snarkily, pulling out his subjects homework.   
Every leader liked Race. He offered them free tutoring lessons for free. Sometimes Race would even visit the gang’s lodges and housings and teach some of the little ones or middle schoolers who were having trouble. However, Race only did that with the gangs he liked. Brooklyn, Midtown, and of course, his home in Manhattan. Race told Spot about his place in the lodgings. The lodgings was like an old abandoned orphanage where all the homeless kids lived. All of Jack’s boys lived there, Race shared a room with his best friend Albert, Jojo, and Finch. All of which Spot had heard of but none of which Spot had seen. Race said they were all dorks, and Spot wouldn’t like them anyway. But Spot had a feeling he wouldn’t have a problem with Race’s friends.

“Don’t be a smartass. You’s lucky I like you.” Race snickered. Spot got uneasy. He did that. Spot hated the way he reacted to Race’s gestures, even if Race was being a sarcastic asshole, Spot found himself hitchin’ his breath everytime Race showed an ounce of interest toward him. Spot brushed it off on nerves for his boys, but he knew that wasn’t it. Whatever. He’ll think about it later. For the next hour they were thinking about calculus, and geography, which was Spot’s favorite subject, and biology.  
“It’s gettin’ late. I don’t want Kelly soaking me.” Spot noted as the sun started to hit the horizon. Technically, it wasn’t that late. But by the time Race would be home, it’d be pitch black out and the only thing you would be able to hear in Brooklyn is the wincing of a poor boy’s beating behind stores and around corners. 

Race scoffed. “Yeah like Jackie would be losing a fight to you.” He froze immediately. “If you tell Jack’s I say’s that, you’s a dead man, Conlon.”  
Spot cackled obnoxiously, causing Race to go pink and quickly change the subject. “Look, I’s gotta get home.”  
“I’m walking ya, Racer, you know’s the drill.” They had this routine every Tuesday. And sometimes Wednesday, for fun, and always Friday, for God knows whatever reason.  
“Ya sure? It’ll be awfully dark by the time’s you’s walking back. Ya’s littles gonna be all alone’s for sundown.” Race was concerned. If there was anything Race loved more than tutoring and talking about cards, it was the littles. The little kids of the gangs, the one’s whose parents gave up on them the second they entered their lives. Race was a natural born caretaker.

“Ah, Sniper know’s where I am’s, and if he don’t, he’ll hear about it in the morning’s.” Race reluctantly nodded at Spot’s excuse. They headed in the direction of the Manhattan lodgings, and about 45 minutes later the sky was dark and the faint light of the front of the lodgings made its way into view across the Brooklyn bridge. Thankfully, Spot’s apartment wasn’t too far off on the other side of the bridge to make it to his before it hit 9 pm, key soaking time for the local bulls.

“You ready to let me go, Spotty?” Race hummed. Spot jokingly snarled at the nickname, which he secretly loved, but would never admit. Spot had his hands in his pocket, and his cap placed steadily on his head. He slapped the taller boy’s shoulder, and smiled as they made a quick glance at each other. Race was chewing on one of his cigars and his dimple was piercing his cheek as he smiled widely at Spot.

“Yeah, you’s a pain in the ass, Race, I’s always ready to let you’s go.” Race snorted at his sarcasm. Race tipped his cap in response to Spot’s small wave, as Spot readily turned on his toe and hastily walked the other direction, making his way to the dark streets of Brooklyn.

Spot had never said Race was his friend. But he never said he wasn’t either. Spot didn’t know what to make out of Race and him. But genuinely, Spot would do anything for the scrawny, poker cheating boy. And he knew it. He knew it real bad. And he never told anyone, especially Sniper. Mainly because Sniper was a blabbermouth and Spot didn’t have the energy to soak his own.

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Spot couldn’t explain his sudden need as the school year deepened to try and spend as much time as possible with Race. Before he knew it, Race was coming to his apartment after school, and Race would accidentally fall asleep on Spot’s couch while they would be watching the Alan Dale show on Spot’s worn out TV that sparked electricity from the dial every couple of minutes. But they were together, and somehow, with the little food they had, and little safety they felt, that was enough.

Spot remembered the day Race ran into Spot’s apartment, shutting the door behind him and saying. “Antonio.” Spot was confused. Race was frazzled, his hands rubbing up and down his khakis and his shirt untucked, and his cap in his hand. Spot rushed over to Race, leading him to the beaten up couch Spot found at a junkyard one day. God knows how many germs are on there, and Race came to the point where he didn’t want to know. “Antonio’s my name’s.”

Spot was even more confused. He knew Race’s name was Antonio. He knew everything about Racetrack at this point, even knowing his entire past. Him, Jack, and Albert. That was it. Those were the only people that knew. Spot would never admit it, but the fact that Race confided in him made him a little more weak to his knees. “Racer, slow down, I’s already know’s this. What happened?”

Race looked distant. He wasn’t looking at Spot. He was looking just down at his shoulder. Staring there. No answer. His nails were clawing into Spot’s forearm. Spot winced slightly, causing Race to look up, immediately noticing. “I- I’m sorry- I-” Spot’s heart sank. Race was tremoring. He looked like a little kid, scared his dad was going to whip him across the face.

“Hey, woah, no, Race, I’m not goin’ to hurt you’s.” Spot felt like he was dealing with a porcelain doll. Like one move was going to make him fall and shatter and not come back. Spot moved closer to Race, carefully wrapping his arms around him, watching closely for any signs of refrain from the hollow shell that once held his best friend. Spot’s voice was in a whisper. “Start from the beginning. Take your time.”

The rest of the next 5 minutes was Spot’s worry turning into fuming anger, and before he knew it he was stomping down to Manhattan. “Jack we’s got ourselves an issue’s here!” Spot didn’t take mind to the rest of the newsies cowering in the ‘Great Spot Conlon’s’ presence, which frankly Race found ridiculous. He also didn’t take mind to the fact that the once hollow Racetrack was now very annoyed, yelling at Spot to stop, constantly grabbing for his sleeve, or suspender, or belt, all of which Spot would shove Race off of.

“You’re being ridiculous, Spot!” “Spot!” “Sean, stop!”  
Spot froze at the use of his name. He didn’t turn around. “Race, you can’t let them do’s that to you’s.” Bitterness was seething through his words, his hands were gripping the rail of the staircase up to Jack’s penthouse, and Race wasn’t taking his eyes off the back of Spot’s head. Spot turned his head around to meet Race in the eyes.  
“Please. Stop. This ain’t your fight.” Race begged with his eyes.  
“The second they insulted you, it became my fight.”  
“I could’ve heard wrong!”  
“Tony, you’s ain’t deaf.  
“Spot, you ain’t stupid. You know what this can lead to.”  
“I won’t make it lead to nothin’. You gotta trust me on this ones.”

Race inhaled sharply. Nodding and motioning up to Jack’s place. Spot knew this wasn’t the end of it and he would hear more on it later, but for now he was stuck with what he had. Spot felt his head bow when Jack asked what happened.  
“We’re beating up the Delanceys.”  
“What the hell are you’s on about, Spot?”

“We’re gonna find them, and we’s gonna soak them. I don’t care if it’s the whole gang or just us, we’s finding a way to soak them.” Spot was walking back and forth now.  
“Can you explain why?” Jack stuttered.  
“I’m scared if he does, he’ll break either something or himself.” Race said tiredly, with his arms crossed, obviously sick of this and wanting to go back to Spot’s. “Can we’s please go back, I don’t want’s to do this right now, I’se exhausted, Spot.” Race whispered. Spot’s eyes softened.  
“I’se sorry,” Spot looked at a loss for words at this point. “I- ugh, god dammit, Racer.”  
“Can somebody please explain what’s going on?” Crutchie interjected.

“Look, it wasn’t that big a deal, Morris and his spit-face brother decided it would be a real gag to call me some not so nice names.” Race said, cringing at the experience.  
“Look Kelly, either you’se goes with me or I’m huntin’ ‘em down and soakin’ ‘em myself.”  
“Spot, you’se already getting yourself in enough trouble. These could’a get’s you suspended, or even expelled.” Race pleaded again, tugging on Spot’s wrist, trying to lead him back down the ladder.

“Racer, I hate to be on Conlon’s side, but I’ve had enough of those lousy hats.”  
“Look, if y’alls do something, and I’se warning you this whole time, and you’se get yourselves in trouble, you won’t ever hears the end of it.”  
“Deal.” Spot said, pressing his forehead against Race’s shoulder.

They headed back to Spot’s apartment. Mindlessly hand and hand, or shoulder to shoulder the whole walk there. Dead silence and a cloud of tenseness and exhaustion bearing over them. Race ultimately collapsed the second he got back to Spot’s. This time, they collapsed together. And the tenseness was suddenly substituted with comfort, as Race laid his head on Spot’s chest, and Spot dozed off to the sound of Race’s quiet snores.

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The next day, Spot and Jack met after school. They knew Morris and Oscar would be out of the building in a couple hours after practice for whatever sport they did that their dad threw them into for more reputation. The lead up to the fight had Spot’’s body pumping with adrenaline. Technically, he hadn’t been in a real fist to fist in a while. Spending so much time recently taking care of his boys, he had no time to get into any drama with the neighboring gangs. With school just starting, that’s what every other gang member was dealing with too.

At the end of the day, the gangs were for protection, and the gangs were for support. So the main job of a gang leader is to keep them protected, and supported, and make sure when they’re on their own they won’t be stuck in jail or the refuge having to depend on old groggy men and rulers to live. Hours passed, and there was still no sign of Morris and Oscar. Jack and Spot were starting to get impatient, before they heard shuffling of feet down the stairs behind them.

“Oh, looky here. We got ourselves some more little fags to fiend after.” Oscar spat on Jack. Spot grinded his teeth together, his feet shuffling beneath him.  
“What the hell do you want, Oscar?” Jack huffed. Morris and Oscar started laughing, finding multiple ways to tease, poke at, or discriminate them. They would beat him up right now. But on school property? Not smart. They needed to make smart moves.

Spot however, wasn’t one for smart moves. He made the first strike. Hitting Morris straight in the jaw. Morris wasn’t unphased, but he kept his calm, spitting his blood and one of his now chipped teeth into Spot’s face. Morris went in for his first swing, straight into Spot’s gut. A few moments after, they were practically ontop of eachother. Oscar ran out of the sight and Jack was trying to pry Spot off of Morris, and vice versa, which only led Jack to get an elbow to the nose, and a kick to the groin.

At this point, Spot was tasting blood as he toppled over to put his knee on Morris’ throat, putting 3 or 4 punches to his eye, nose, and jaw. Blood toppled down Morris’ face. Not dead. Not unconscious. Just mad, and dizzy. Morris grabbed Spot’s chin and flipped Spot over, chin still in hand. It was dark out. Spot didn’t notice it getting dark. Had it always been dark? Morris dug through his pocket, grabbed the pocket knife, and slowly slit a small cut into his cheek.

“This is a warning, Conlon. Next, I’ll pierce your little boyfrie-” He would’ve gotten through with his sentence. If it weren’t for Jack, who got up from holding his crotch and decided to find his way to repeatedly kicking Morris. Going once, going twice, going three times, and the third time, stomped straight on his face. He wasn’t dead. He was blacked out, though. They got the pocket knives hidden in his shoes, pockets, and belt loops, and stashed them.

Spot groaned, kicking Morris to the curb until Morris found his way behind some trash can behind some building in the middle of Brooklyn.  
Jack stared at Spot, before without saying a word, tipping his cap, and walking his way home with his head bowed. Spot limped over to his apartment. Thankfully it was just a few blocks down and wouldn’t take too long to get to. It was about the midway point between the lodgings and the school.

Before long, he silently closed the door behind him, before immediately getting engrossed in a tight hug as he turned around. He winced. Race lightened the grip, pulling away and scanning the boy up and down for any fatal wounds, cupping Spot’s face and rubbing his thumb back and forth on the slit.

“Woah, Racer, hey, I’m okay.”  
“No, no you’re not, sit down,” Race led Spot to the couch and ran to get the first aid kit. “Black eye, slit, multiple cuts, and bruises… everywhere.. Spot, what the hell was you’se thinkings?” Race was too preoccupied to be mad, but Spot knew he was going to be talked to later.

“You’se don’t haves to baby me, Racer. I can helps myself.” Spot mumbled, grabbing the wet towel out of Race’s hand and dabbing it around his cheek. Race started putting band-aids on Spot’s cuts, and wrapping his bruises which have turned to a faint greenish-purple color. Race rolled his eyes and hummed.

“Are you gonna tell me why you’se be doing that, Sean?” Race whispered after he was done with the bandages. Like there was someone else in the room and Race didn’t want them to hear.  
“Racer, you know I’d do anything for you’se.”

Race looked away, blinking fast. “You can’t be out there putting yourself in danger for the sake of some stupid dude’s.”  
“Race- I’m really tired.” He followed with a yawn. Race nodded, standing up and taking Spot’s hands, leading him to his room.  
“I’se sleeping with you tonight.” Race said with hesitation. Spot tensed, and turned to the boy quickly, wincing at the sudden motion but covering it with a cough.  
“Wha- what?” Race didn’t listen to Spot’s stutters.

Only a few moments later were they both in Spot’s bed, limbs tangled, and bodies pressed tight, and for once, after the longest two days of their lives.   
They felt safe.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!! making a new sprace series soon, probably.  
> also i love them


End file.
